


I'm All That You See

by Voiid_Vagabond (Saturn_the_Almighty)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Action, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguments, Arson(?), Backstory, Bodyguard AU, Brutal Murder, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-typical language, Disbanded FAHC AU, Drama, Explosions, Fake/Pretend Marriage, Flirting, Fluff, GTA AU, Love Confessions, M/M, Mavin, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, POV Alternating, POV Multiple, Sharing a Bed, Violence, switching POVs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:01:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23188174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saturn_the_Almighty/pseuds/Voiid_Vagabond
Summary: Michael can take care of himself. Even if heisbeing hunted by two different crews who both want his blood. He certainly doesn't need a bodyguard,Geoff.
Relationships: Gavin Free/Michael Jones
Comments: 11
Kudos: 37





	1. The One Where Michael Screws Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [keelerpeeler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelerpeeler/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title of this fic comes from ['Michael' by Franz Ferdinand.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ktwlN_ocL-o)

When Geoff Ramsey retires, he decides to appoint someone to take his place as head of the Ramsey Corporation, an innocuous company that serves as a front for weapons manufacturing and distribution to various crews and gangs around their great city of Los Santos.

He tries to make Ryan Haywood take over, an old and dear friend, but balancing a solo career as a well-renowned knife for hire and the head of a company ends up being too much for him. It's been far too long since he's managed contact with his oldest friend, Jack Pattillo, so she isn't in the running. No matter how much he wishes she could be.

Michael Jones is his other option. 'A hot-tempered smartass,' as Geoff has referred to him fondly.

"Look, you have the intelligence for this, the time put into this city, and _I trust you,"_ Geoff is saying. He's sitting at a coffee shop across from Michael, whose arms are crossed and brow furrowed so intensely that the barista was reluctant to even walk up to them.

"Geoff, I'm not cut out for this," Michael argues. "I appreciate _you_ trusting me, but what if I don't trust _myself?"_ He shakes his head, shrugging his still-crossed shoulders. "I barely know anything about what you did," he adds.

Geoff allows himself a moment to take a few calming breaths.

"You're not giving yourself enough credit," he mumbles. "How about this? I'll put you up there as a placeholder. I'll look around for someone else and in the meantime you can feel out the job for yourself?" He suggests. It's a reach, but he's hoping that Michael will at the very least consider.

Michael groans, leaning his head back to look up at the ceiling.

_"Fine,"_ he grumbles. "But don't blame me if your dumbass shady company goes up in flames because of me." He jabs a finger at Geoff, who's too busy grinning from ear to ear to be offended.

"You're going to do great, Michael! I know you can do this!" He encourages. "And I can finally have a goddamn break. It's a win-win."

Michael doesn't seem convinced, but he finally uncrosses his arms and relaxes his posture so they can have coffee like regular friends. Geoff isn't worried. Michael's resourceful, can think on his feet. He _will_ be fine.

* * *

  
  


Michael is not fine.

He's crammed into one of Geoff's old suits that doesn't fit either of them right and standing behind an old, crumbling building in the industrial district with a van filled with guns.

He's waiting on the buyer, a rep from some up-and-coming gang who needs more firepower to get what they can't have, he guesses. The only other person with him is the van driver, a guy who's been with Geoff for a little while and goes by 'Shifty.' Michael doesn't trust him. And no, not because of the name.

"Whoever this asswipe is, they're _late,"_ Michael grumbles to himself, checking his watch impatiently for the third time. It's dark out, which makes the place infinitely creepier. Michael leans back against a wall uneasily. He shouldn't be letting his guard down. As far as he knows, the crew might be hiding just out of sight to gun him down and take the goods.

A crunch of boots on the crumbled ground has him snapping his head up on high alert. Three people step into the diffused red glow of the van's tail lights. Shifty falls into step behind them, arms crossed and face set into a stony mask.

Michael sighs heavily, scrubbing his face and hissing out curses under his breath.

"Who the fuck are these people?" He demands, trying to take control of the situation. "You said," he turns on the woman in the middle, who has the gall to be wearing a smirk, "that you would be coming _alone."_ He enunciates the word like he's talking to a child.

"Change of plans. Last-minute crew alliance, what can I say?" the woman says, shrugging. "So now you owe us twice. We gotta have enough boom for our new friends too, ya feel?" Her voice is dripping with smugness. She’s _so sure_ that she can intimidate Michael into caving. Michael reminds himself to track down Geoff and slap him across the jaw for somehow convincing him to get stuck with this shit job.

Even if he does have an iota of newfound respect for what Geoff did.

"Alright, fine." Michael raises his hands in surrender. "Let me drive back to HQ and I'll get you what you need. Just double, right?" He tries. He'd rather not argue with these people, they most definitely all have concealed weapons and Michael hasn't fired a gun in years.

He steps over to the van and unlocks the back door, sliding it open to show them what he has to offer. "I'll be back with all this and more, give me an hour, tops," he says firmly.

Shifty shakes his head, clicking his tongue. "Nah, I think we'll just kill you and take what you have. Keep things quiet, yeah?" He says it with an emotionless smile. Michael was fucking _right_ not to trust him.

"We'll go back for more later," the woman adds, taking a step towards Michael.

"Oh, fuck that," Michael growls, jumping into the back of the van and scrambling to get the door shut. He clambers over the weapons cases, his legs protesting and the seams somewhere on his suit tearing, and tumbles into the driver's seat. He gets the engine started before the crew realizes what he's up to— thanking some higher power for letting the keys be left in— and he's pealing out onto the street after a moment of panicked maneuvering, wincing at the sound of gunfire behind him, a few finding their way into the side of the van. They die down after a few seconds, once Michael gets far enough down the road. He prays that they won't follow. They _are_ on foot, after all.

Or not.

He soon hears the roar of revving motorcycle engines close behind and screams a few colorful curses into the cab of the van. His fists slam against the steering wheel as he wills the poor van to go faster, flooring the gas as it flies down the highway.

Michael isn't even sure he'll be safe back at Ramsey Corp. HQ. Shifty knows where it is, he _works there_ for fuck's sake. He can get in the building.

Michael remembers the last time he killed a man and wonders if he has the guts to do it again, after all this time.

He spots three motorcycles in his side mirror and grits his teeth, taking a hard right around a building. A chase through downtown is just going to spell trouble for him. He needs to get it over with.

Michael manages to skirt around a smaller building, staying out of his tails' line of sight and screams down the road back the way he came. The weapons cases in the back tumble around, slamming into the wall with the turn. He slows as the motorcycles turn the corner, hoping to lead suspicion away. They keep heading straight, missing him completely, and Michael smirks as he eases the van around behind a car wash, parking halfway into it in case he has to back out suddenly.

The growling of the motors dies down and Michael holds his breath, waiting long enough to assume that they've lost him.

He leans forward and rests his forehead on the steering wheel, letting out a long-suffering groan. Fumbling in his pocket for his phone, he speed-dials Geoff and waits for him to pick up.

He doesn't even wait for a 'hello' before taking a breath and popping off.

"Geoff! Your dumbass shady company is going to go up in fucking flames!" He shouts, holding his phone away from his mouth to not blow Geoff's eardrums.

"What? What did you do? What happened?" He sounds like he's just woken up, which is probably exactly what happened.

"Some assholes tried to screw me over and fucking _Shifty_ is on their side!" Michael runs a hand through his hair, exasperated and frustrated with himself.

"What? Shifty Larry? Aww shit," Geoff grumbles.

Michael huffs a breath and tries to calm himself down. "He has access to the HQ and he’ll find the bunker in no time. I'm screwed. They're all gonna be looking to kill me now." He knows _that one_ for sure.

"Okay." Geoff sounds like he too is trying to keep a level head. "Michael, head to the safehouse. I'll take care of this." He's more awake and alert now and Michael finds that his confident tone grounds him.

"How?" He asks, despite.

Geoff snorts. "It's been years since you've been in a crew. I'd say you're a little rusty on self-defense?" He asks, rhetorically.

"No shit," Michael grumbles. He left his old crew specifically so he _wouldn't_ have to worry about all that. And his knees aren't made for running from the cops anymore.

"So I will _take care of that,”_ Geoff assures him. “Just sit tight. The code word'll be 'Franklin.'"

The line goes dead and Michael is left staring ahead as he tries to process everything. "What? Geoff? Wh— did you fucking hang up on me?" he shouts incredulously. Silence.

Michael opens his notes app and hurriedly types ‘Franklin’ into a blank page. What it means and when he’ll have to use it, Michael has absolutely no idea. But he’s solidly escaped death once. Frankly, that’s about enough for him for one night, so he tosses his phone into the passenger’s seat and starts off, slowly and carefully, to the safehouse Geoff mentioned. It’s on the other side of town from HQ, so he hopes he’ll be able to avoid his pursuers and get _a few hours_ of sleep before shit truly hits the fan, as he’s sure it inevitably will.

The safehouse is probably the cheapest thing Geoff has ever purchased. It’s unassuming from the outside and unless someone was trained to notice a painted metal door and a low-profile keycard reader it flies under the radar. Security upgrades aside, it’s still a small, second-floor apartment with a showerhead that has the weakest spray Michael has ever experienced. He might get a better clean from the fucking sink.

The van is parked in the back lot of the apartment complex. He made sure to tuck it under the trees, the shade obscuring it enough to not notice the bullet holes in the side. Michael doesn’t exactly feel comfortable leaving a vehicle full of highly dangerous and grossly expensive weaponry unattended through the night but he really has no choice.

After practically tearing off the uncomfortable suit and showering, Michael changes into one of the generic and unassuming pairs of clothing in the dresser and tries to get some sleep.

Geoff must have splurged on the mattress too, when he was decking out the place. Michael feels like he went to lay down on a cloud. It makes it a little easier when his mind is plagued with unwanted and half-formed plans for the next day. He needs to get rid of Shifty, the cornerstone of all this. The man knows too much, was _clearly_ trusted far too much and it blew up in everyone’s faces. If he can make sure that Shifty can’t give those crews a leg to stand on, then he’d be fine. Relatively safe. Maybe that show of power would take the target off his back and he can breathe again without expecting to get shot in the brain.

And then there’s ‘Franklin.’ Geoff’s codeword. Michael can only recall one other time Geoff has used a codeword and that was when he was part of his crew. It was always treated as a fragile, almost scary thing. The rest of them walked on eggshells everywhere for weeks until it was uttered.

Not only does that thought stir up unpleasant memories, but Michael feels his stomach drop at the thought of having to wait that long. He may be dead by then. The company could be compromised. He doesn’t know how long he can wait. 

Michael falls into a fitful sleep with one thought on his mind. He can’t fathom failing Geoff after all he’s done for him.

* * *

  
  


Michael hates being woken up more than anything. So when his phone starts ringing in his ear before the sun has even begun to shine through the blinds he’s ready to fall back into old habits and blow something up. Or some _one._

There are three new messages from an unknown number when he turns over and fumbles his phone from the bedside stand. He frowns at them, eyes still too blurry from sleep to read them clearly. Michael sits up slowly, stretching out his back with a groan. He rubs at his eyes, rolling out his neck and shoulders. He glances back at the messages, clearly showing on his screen now.

**Unknown:** _Franklin_

Michael is immediately shocked into alertness. He jumps out of bed, throwing off the covers and Slipping into the jeans he had left at the foot of the bed the night before. It’s an ordeal to get his legs through, working with only one hand as he stares, wide-eyed at his screen.

**Unknown:** _open your door_

 **Unknown:** _unless you want to raise suspicion around your safehouse?_

Michael snorts at the attitude he can _feel_ through the text, just barely catching himself from tripping as his legs finally find the ends of his jeans. He’s practically sprinting to the door before he realizes he has no idea who this person is. Other than Geoff’s codeword he has nothing to go on. And Geoff has _a lot_ of connections. There’s no telling who it’ll be. It could be Jack fucking Pattillo for all he knows.

Michael grabs his shitty pistol off the coffee table as he passes, figuring that he’ll be able to hit a target right in the doorway if need be. He steels himself for whoever he’ll meet and starts unlocking the door. It beeps quietly as he turns the knob, sucking in a breath.

  
Michael doesn’t think, in _any fucking universe,_ that he would have ever been prepared to see Gavin again.


	2. The One Where Michael Explains The Situation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates?? In one day?? Who am I and what have I done with Voiid??

"Gavin?" Michael breathes, tucking the pistol away in his waistband and stepping back in disbelief, opening the door wider as he does. Gavin fills the space he's left, all bright eyes and tufts of hair sticking up like they always have. He's wearing a pressed black suit and a matching tie, everything dark and silky. He looks  _ expensive. _ But hasn't he always?

"Gavin  _ fucking _ Free? What are you doing here?" Michael's voice comes out harsh and he regrets it when he sees Gavin’s smile spread across his face.

"Geoff said you needed a bodyguard," he pipes excitedly. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, rocking back and forth in Michael’s doorway. After a pointed look from him, Gavin kicks the door closed behind him and steps more fully into the room. The door beeps again and Michael quickly blocks Gavin’s way to the couch. He needs some goddamn closure before Gavin gets to be comfortable.

As mean as that sounds when he says it in his head, no-fucking-one gets to disappear on him and then waltz back into his life like this.

"What the fuck? You didn't  _ call, _ you didn't  _ text, _ you didn't do anything to let me know you were still fucking alive!" Michael stands up on his toes, using his size to intimidate Gavin’s lanky form. He jabs a finger against Gavin’s sternum.

"For  _ two years, _ Gavin!" He growls. Gavin opens and closes his mouth like a fish, eyes wide in surprise. Michael doesn’t slow down.

"I've had this stupid fucking contact still on my phone for two goddamn years just waiting for you!" He waves his phone around, thinking about the contact sitting uncalled and uncontacted, labelled nothing more than ‘my boi.’

"Michael, I— " Gavin starts, raising his hands to steady Michael’s shoulders.

"You dropped off the face of the earth,” Michael interrupts, shrugging him off. The room goes deathly quiet. 

"We all did,” Gavin sighs out. “We made that choice out of necessity."

Michael shakes his head, gazing into Gavin’s green eyes and willing his own to stay dry. "I couldn't even see you,” he whispers. "I could see Geoff or Ryan any-fucking-time, but I couldn't see you."

"I'm sorry,” Gavin says and he sounds like he really means it. That doesn’t change the fact that he  _ did _ leave and he  _ did  _ go silent, but Michael appreciates the apology, if only a little.

"If it makes you feel better, I haven't seen anyone. Still no word on Jack, but I think Jeremy signed on with this bounty hunting organization or some bollocks back east,” Gavin says, shrugging. Michael almost asks how he knows, but Gavin is skilled, if not devilishly smart when he needs to be. “Geoff is the only one who even knows I’ve left England,” he adds.

"That makes me feel worse, actually,” Michael admits, crossing his arms like armor. He misses Jeremy. Misses Jack. Maybe not as much as Geoff, he doesn’t think anyone will  _ ever _ be able to miss Jack more than him, but he does miss her. It was harder when Jack went silent, every single phone line dead, no word on that head of fiery hair. Geoff took it badly, and that impacted the rest of them. Even Ryan flew under the radar for a few months, the city confused at the sudden lack of brutal murders they’d come to accept as normal. 

"I'm here now." Gavin’s voice brings Michael back to the present. He realizes now how much he had missed his voice. That dumb accent that still plagued his dreams every so often.

"I know,” is all Michael can choke out.

Gavin hums, breaking the silence gently again. Michael’s in awe of how he’s suddenly seemed to gain that skill. To be able to so softly ease them back into conversation without being jarring. He'd never been like that when they were in the crew. "Geoff told me to make sure you didn't screw things up."

"He did  _ not,” _ Michael argues. He’d  _ already _ screwed up.

"Yes he did! I was surprised too! It should've been the other way round, huh?" Gavin laughs softly, peering down at Michael from over that dumbass nose. Michael laughs with him, letting his arms slip free and holding them out, inviting. Gavin pauses, tilting his head at Michael in bemusement.

Michael huffs a breath, turning his head away as he mumbles “I want a hug, Gavin, c’mere.” He can feel his face heat up as Gavin steps forward and wraps his arms around Michael, burying his face in the crook of his neck immediately.

“Michael, you have to know that I never stopped thinking about you. I never stopped missing you,” Gavin mutters, shifting to press his cheek against Michael’s. He can feel Gavin’s stubble against his own surprisingly clean-shaven face.

_ I see you in my dreams, sometimes, _ Michael wants to say. He doesn’t. Instead everything slows down and Gavin’s nose is brushing against his and somewhere, far away, he knows that they shouldn't be this close but a lot clearer is a voice that reminds him how far gone he is for Gavin, something that never waned in the two years they’ve been apart.

Michael pushes forward, just a little, and his lips are crashing against Gavin’s. Nothing’s ever felt more right and more wrong to him, but he can’t stop now. He squeezes his eyes shut as he feels Gavin tense up for a second, frozen to the spot.

And then his hands are fisted in Michael’s t-shirt and he’s moving, kissing Michael back with a passion he never thought he’d ever feel after so long. Gavin starts to move, backing Michael up towards the couch, his hands finding Michael’s hips. He mirrors Gavin’s steps, walking backwards as he flings his arms around his neck, deepening the kiss with a shuddering breath.

Gavin sighs into the kiss, trying to push Michael back onto the couch. He spins them around, taking Gavin by the hips and practically falling on top of him. Gavin's trapped under Michael's legs and he releases any semblance of control he had to him.

Michael's hands roam, anywhere,  _ everywhere, _ just feeling the man under him, who'd been gone, practically lost to Michael for years. He tangles his fingers in Gavin's unruly hair, hearing his breath pick up.

"Wait, wait," Gavin mumbles suddenly, trying to speak without breaking their kiss. Michael slows his movements. "Stop," Gavin says clearly, leaning back.

"Geoff hired me for a  _ job, _ not for this, I need to know what— I can't— "

Michael groans, unintentionally cutting Gavin off, pushing away from him and covering his rapidly reddening face. “Don’t talk about Geoff, that’s a  _ huge _ boner killer.”

Gavin sounds like he’s choked on his own tongue, face going red as he tries to keep his eyes from wandering downwards. "That’s— what?” he squawks.

Michael huffs, wearing a sour smirk as he swings his leg off Gavin and flops onto the couch beside him.

"I can't be getting handsy with my clients, Michael," he mumbles sheepishly. He sounds like he regrets it.

"So you're fucking serious about being my goddamn bodyguard?" Michael asks incredulously.

"What do you think I've been doing for two years?" Gavin shoots back. _ "Yes, _ Michael, I am an actual bodyguard with real training and I get hired and paid to keep people from harm," he says.

"And Geoff hired you. For me." He says it flatly, like it's not even a question.

"Yes. So— so, right now, you're a client." Gavin's fiddling with his now rumpled tie, not meeting Michael's eyes. His cheeks are dusted pink, lips still shining with what's probably a mix of both their spit.

Michael marvels at his beauty like he's seeing him for the first time.

As if he'd ever be able to forget it.

"No more making out, then?" Michael says, willing his tone to stay light and playful. Gavin nods. He knew it was coming. But somehow Michael had hoped that he could be an exception. After all the time they'd known each other. After all they had been through, shoulder-to-shoulder, connected at the hip.

Maybe Gavin had changed more than he knew.

"I need to know what happened. All Geoff mentioned is that you might be in danger of getting offed. Tell me how you managed that, boi," Gavin asks, nudging Michael's shoulder with his own.

"Because I'm fucking inept, that's why," Michael grumbles.

“You’re not,” Gavin says firmly. “We all make mistakes. We’ve all fucked up.”

“Some more than others,” Michael says bitterly. Gavin, thankfully, doesn’t catch his drift.

“So you did something bad. Care to tell me what? Or should I guess?” Gavin asks in an attempt to keep the mood light.

Michael leans into Gavin’s shoulder, knowing that he won’t bring his arm around and hug Michael closer like they used to, but still getting disappointed when he doesn’t. He’s sure now they won’t be doing  _ anything _ that they used to.

He sighs, reluctantly recalling the night before. “It was the closest thing to heistwork that I’ve done since…” He bites his tongue, frowning.

“You can say it,” Gavin says delicately. “Since we disbanded.”

“Since I fucked us all, Gavin,” Michael clarifies, venom sitting on his tongue.

“Anyway. It was just an exchange with some crew rep. I’ve been muscle to those kinds of meetings a million times but suddenly I’m the one wearing the suit and I forget everything I’ve ever done,” Michael complains.

“She brought backup. And on top of that, the crew’d made some shitty alliance and were demanding double their order! And Geoff’s fucking  _ right hand man _ is working them or something?” Michael waves his hands about, trying to articulate something more than the frenzy of that night had been.

“I barely made it out alive. It was the most terrifying thing I’d ever done,” he says quietly.

Gavin snorts. “Really? A car chase in a van? Away from four people? You’re Mogar, for gods’ sake!” He probably means for it to be encouraging, he’d always been pretty awe-struck by Michael’s crew persona. But now, it only feels sour. Because Michael can’t be that anymore.

“It’s because I was  _ Alone, _ Gavin.”

He sits up, away from Gavin and the closeness and comfort he gives. Pushing up from the couch and pacing around the length of the coffee table Michael takes a few deep, steadying breaths.

“The fact that I’ve now got a shit ton of people on my ass doesn’t even phase me. I’m pretty sure I’ve been desensitized to that by this point. But it was scary shit. There was no Jeremy in the passenger’s side shouting at the top of his lungs, no Ry— no Vagabond shooting out the back window.” He shrugs helplessly.

“And all that’s gone now because of me,” he spits, crossing his arms again, closing himself off. Gavin stomps his feet hard as he stands up, fists clenched at his sides.

“Stop!” he shouts. Michael’s surprised by the force of his voice. “If you say one more damn word about how it was your fault I will walk right out that door and I’ll— I’ll never talk to you again.” The sureness of his tone wavers. Michael knows he doesn’t mean it.

“You’ve already done that,” he points out.

“I don’t care!” Gavin steps around the coffee table and ducks his head to look into Michael’s eyes. “You have to stop putting all the blame on yourself.”

Michael huffs, turning away from Gavin. He only finds Michael’s eyes again.

“You cannot keep shouldering all of this guilt, Michael,” Gavin pleads. “Things have changed. But we are all okay. It’s okay if we’re not doing the same things we’ve always been.”

Michael’s almost annoyed at Gavin’s newfound maturity.  _ Almost. _ He’s forgiven because his words do make Michael feel better. And he loves the way Gavin says his name.

“I miss us,” Michael admits. Like that’s a good enough reason. Like that explains it all away.

“I miss  _ us,” _ he says again, meeting Gavin’s eyes.

Gavin smiles at him and it’s far too soft for Michael to take. Who said he could just come weaseling his way back into Michael’s heart?

“You won’t be getting rid of me that easily. Not again,” Gavin assures him. “Now tell me about these crews, yeah? And Geoff, correct me if I’m wrong, said something about a shifty? Whatever that is, he was half-asleep during our call.”

Gavin leads them back to the couch and sits facing Michael, one leg tucked up under him. Michael starts talking and Gavin kicks off his shiny black dress shoes and runs his fingers through his hair as he listens, nodding along.

Michael would have been grateful for the help no matter who it was. But Gavin…? He makes it so much easier. So much harder. Michael wouldn't have it any other way.


	3. The One Where Gavin Does His Job

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I didn't proofread this but its probably fine. Present tense is kicking my ass. Enjoy.

Gavin gets to work readying himself and Michael to confront the crews, and more importantly, Shifty Larry. He hadn't brought anything with him save for a small duffle bag which he'd left outside the door when Michael made him close it. Michael thinks that was a dumb choice.

"It's alright, boi, there's nothing important in it. Just clothes, some cash, bulletproof vests," Gavin lists, ticking each item off on his fingers. Michael looks bewildered.

"I'd argue bulletproof vests are pretty important considering your line of work," he says. "Go get it," he orders. Gavin hops up from the couch, a smirk on his face.

"Awww, _Micool,"_ Gavin croons, clasping his hands together and plastering a dreamy expression on his face, "you care about me!" He jokes.

Michael's face goes red and he turns away. "Of course I care about you, dumbass!" He confirms. "I don't want you to die. Now go get your shit." Gavin nods, already padding to the door. It feels nice to finally take off his shoes after hours upon hours of travelling.

The door stays resolutely shut when Gavin yanks on the handle. “Um. Michael?” He calls behind him. “Door’s stuck.”

Michael sighs, coming to stand behind Gavin, peering at the door with its tiny keypad and blinking red light.

“S’not stuck, you just need the passcode,” Michael says matter-of-factly. He leans around Gavin and punches in a short number sequence which Gavin instinctively memorizes. The door beeps happily and Michael pulls it open. Gavin sends him a bright smile, leaning out into the hall to grab his duffle. He’s actually surprised that it’s still sitting where he left it, considering the vibe of the rest of the building.

With a cursory toss of the duffle towards the couch (it hits the coffee table quite loudly) Gavin turns on Michael.

“Here’s the plan,” he says, straightening his posture and fixing his tie, sliding it back up against his throat. “I’m going to get eyes on Shifty and these crewmembers, assuming they’re all together. This kind of thing, a late-night ambush, they’re going to keep quiet. Most likely it’ll only be the three of them, plus Shifty, for a few days. They’ll hole up in your HQ, pick up what they want and get the hell out of there.” Michael nods numbly.

“Once I get confirmation, doesn’t matter if I’m right, once we know where they are, we’ll blast in there and get rid of their info guy.” Gavin raises his eyebrows at Michael silently asking his understanding. Michael clears his throat.

“Who’re you calling for this confirmation? You have connections?" he asks. Gavin snorts. He grins at Michael, just a sliver of his old Fake persona showing through.

"Of course. You don't become the Golden Boy of Los Santos for ten odd years and _not_ keep a few loyal friends around,” he says. “There are plenty of people here who miss us.”

“Not as much as me, though,” Michael grumbles and if Gavin didn’t know any better he’d say Michael’s pouting. Maybe he doesn’t know better.

“Of course not, love,” Gavin affirms. “Now go get dressed, you look like you just rolled out of bed,” he says, shooting Michael a cheeky wink. Michael absently smooths down his unruly hair, sticking up from the hair spray still in it. It warms Gavin’s heart to know that Michael’s still married to his hairstyle. He vaguely wonders what else is the same. And what things have changed.

Michael turns away, headed to the single bedroom in the back of the safehouse. “Yeah, well, I _did_ just roll out of bed, asshole,” he says. Gavin watches him go, head tilted and a small smile on his lips.

“Don’t take too long on that hair, boi,” he calls after Michael, earning a middle finger from the man in question as he disappears into the bedroom. Gavin sighs, picking up his duffle and sitting down on the couch to wait for Michael. He unzips it, pulling out his spare clothes and setting them aside. He digs to the bottom, dragging the two carefully folded vests out and setting them on the coffee table. His eye catches a flash of gold and he frowns, quickly filling the bag back up and closing it. He kicks it under the coffee table and pulls out his phone. He has some calls to make. It’s time to see who Michael got screwed over by and where they are.

Gavin’s in a heated discussion about the morality of breaking into a building that’s not occupied by the rightful owners when he hears the shower turn on. It’s barely audible and he’s keyed into Michael’s voice grumbling about the water pressure more than the actual sound of the water.

He tries desperately to focus on his phone call instead of the sound of Michael humming the shower that reaches his ears. “I don’t really mind how you do it, just make sure the idiots haven’t leaked any of Ramsey’s secrets yet. This is a delicate issue, right? I’m trusting you with this,” he says, eyes flicking to the open bedroom door. “I’ve got to go, text me when you’ve got info.” He hangs up.

Gavin pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing sharply into the space between his hand. Going back to being the Golden Boy is hard, especially after he had thought he’d finally laid that persona to rest. He should’ve known being back in Los Santos would force his old habits.

His phone starts buzzing and Gavin’s surprised for a second at the swiftness of the guy he’d called. Some poor sap, looked up to the Fakes when they were in their prime. He snatches it up, noticing that it’s another call and not a text, and glancing at the caller ID.

Gavin is only just barely able to stop himself from gasping out loud. He fumbles with his phone in a panic to accept the call.

“Matthew?” he whispers, cradling his phone to his ear as he speaks into the receiver.

“For the last time, my name is Matt,” Matt Bragg replies. “But everyone calls me The Ringer, now, if you wanna be professional.”

Gavin laughs, breathy and frenzied. “I didn’t think I’d ever hear your voice again,” he admits.

“True, it _has_ been a while since I did work for the Fakes. Well, I guess you aren’t that anymore.” Matt’s voice is tinged with melancholy. Gavin knows that they aren’t the only ones who wish it could’ve been different. The Fakes were Los Santos’ gleaming monument, a testament to perseverance and their unwavering idea of justice.

I called to tell you I found the dickbags who’ve taken Ramsey’s HQ hostage. That is what you wanted, right?” Gavin can tell that Matt’s alone, why wouldn’t he be? The job of a hacker called for odd hours, laser-focus and isolation. He nods quickly before remembering that Matt can’t see him and clears his throat.

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“Word travels fast down here,” Matt answers readily. “I’ll send you the security feed, if you’d like. They’re rifling through the products right now. Probably fucking up the organization. None of these people know anything about running a business, I can tell you that.” There’s a chuckle in Matt’s voice and Gavin feels a twinge of longing. “Luckily they haven't made a move to take anything and leave.”

“What’ve you been doing, Matt? Any big jobs I haven’t heard about?” he asks. In the back of his mind he registers that the shower’s been turned off and Michael’s voice muffled.

“I hacked the LSPD recently, nothing to write home about. We all know what those shitbags are up to. I did wipe y’alls files while I was there along with some old colleagues. I know it won’t help... I can’t wipe memories. But who knows? Maybe things can fade away now.”

Gavin smiles sadly, leaning back on the couch and leaning his head back to look up at the ceiling.

“Sounds like you really… put them _through the Ringer,”_ he snickers. Matt groans, and there’s a thump in the background. For all Gavin knows Matt’s slammed his forehead onto his desk.

“Ignoring that terrible pun, I’ll get you the door codes too, assuming you want to stealth this one?” he says. Gavin narrows his eyes.

“For the most part, yeah. But as soon as we find these people I’m going to put bullets through every single one of them. No one gets to threaten Michael’s life and get away with it.” His voice is low, almost a growl, and Matt mumbles something he doesn’t catch before hanging up.

“I didn’t know you could sound like that,” Michael says. He’s leaning against the doorframe in dress pants, belt undone and towel around his shoulders. He’s wearing a thin undershirt that doesn’t exactly hide anything and Gavin has to will himself to pull his eyes away. Michael’s hair is carefully styled the way he’s always liked, flat against his head and pushed to one side. The ends have been sculpted into familiar spikes and Gavin remembers early mornings and late nights giggling in the bathroom with him while he messed with it, squinting at the mirror to get it _just right._

Gavin guesses some things never change.

“Yeah, never thought it suited me,” Gavin says. He watches Michael like a hawk as he approaches, one of Ryan’s old button-ups clenched between his fingers. He knows it’s Ryan’s, recognizes the pattern. And no one else would buy that dark blue color for themselves.

“I don’t mind,” and Gavin’s eyes finally trail up to Michael’s face. He’d seen him clean-shaven before but Gavin had always preferred the beard on him. And there, square above that gorgeous pair of lips…

“Michael, is that your nose ring?” Gavin exclaims. His eyes go wide, watching as Michael’s hand instinctively covers his nose, cheeks going red. Gavin doesn’t remember if Michael ever blushed so easily before but he’s not about to complain.

“No,” Michael lies. “Maybe.”

“And it’s the one I got for you!” Gavin continues, standing up from the couch and gently moving Michael’s hand away. His septum is pierced with gold, a more ornate ring than Michael normally wore, a little something extra for his boi. It had been a birthday gift and Michael had loved it, despite all his grumbling about everyone making a big deal about nothing.

“I lost my other ones,” Michael lies again. Gavin lets go of his wrist and steps back, grinning.

“I didn’t even know you still had it,” he admits. _Never change, Michael Jones,_ Gavin wishes. He changed. He’s not the Golden Boy anymore, he doesn’t think he can be. But Michael’s always been unapologetically himself, even despite the entire city telling him not to be. Even when the disbanding of the Fakes took the city— and Michael— by storm, he’d stood his ground.

To Gavin, the difference between Michael and Mogar had never been a solid line. Because they were both _him._ He’d shrug on that leather jacket and take a different name but under the fire and snarls he was still Michael. His Michael boi.

“Come on, you think I’d let it heal? After the hour and a half you took to convince me to get it?” Michael pulls the towel off his shoulders and drops it onto the couch. His gaze snaps to the two bulletproof vests laying on the coffee table.

“I think it looks pretty,” Gavin says before he can stop himself. Michael smirks at him.

“I know it does, that’s why I wear it,” Michael says matter-of-factly, kicking Gavin’s leg lightly. “Now, do I have to put on one of those things?” he asks, pointing sharply at the vests Gavin nods immediately.

“We’re going into a weapons supplier’s building, Michael, they’ll have firepower. And… if anything happens and I can’t protect you, I’d like at least a little assurance that you might make it.” Gavin tosses Michael a vest and he catches it awkwardly against his chest.

“First of all, you asshole, I can take care of myself. You weren’t the only one in a crew and you aren’t the only one with training. And _second.”_ Michael stares sharply at Gavin, narrowing his eyes. “Do not ever talk as if we won’t both be making it out. Either we walk out of there together or we die in there. Together.”

* * *

  
  
  


Gavin watches Michael’s palpable surprise that the van is untouched and still full of weapons when they, both fully dressed and decked out in bulletproof vests, walk down to the parking lot. He opens the back and lets Gavin take a look. He’d foregone bringing anything with him, preferring not to relive the horrors of trying to fly with weaponry during their Fake days.The van has pretty much everything Gavin could ever see himself needing. He considers a sniper, something he’s much more comfortable using now. But their entry plan checks that off as an unlikely option.

Michael is shaking his head at a locked case with a huge serial number sticker on it and muttering about sending Ryan something special. Gavin flinches at the mention of his name, having conditioned himself to only use his codename. And it was only because of Michael that he’d started to do it. They’d used to call Geoff ‘Kingpin’ exclusively, after the disbanding. Protect his identity and all. But he’d eventually told them to stop. It didn’t matter. But Ryan had stayed ‘Vagabond.’ Gavin can’t remember the last time he uttered his name out loud.

Gavin moves on to a stack of lightweight SMGs, something Geoff had been jabbering on about on call at some point.

“Is V still causing his favorite kind of chaos?” Gavin asks. He’s genuinely curious but hopes it doesn’t come off as an attempt at small talk. Michael hates small talk.

“Yeah. You hear about it, living here,” Michael says. “He’s toned it down, though. Apparently he got his jacket torn up something fierce by some drug lord’s dogs. He’s in a mourning period.”

“That’s rough,” Gavin says quietly. He hefts one of the SMGs in his hands, feeling out the weight. “I never thought I’d see the day where he loses that ugly thing.”

“I’m betting he’ll come back in a few days with a new one. He can probably find some maniac willing to make it,” Michael says, sure of himself.

“Or he’ll give himself a makeover. I’m thinking he’ll get sentimental and go for a purple and orange color scheme,” Gavin jokes. Michael fakes a gagging noise.

“If he even _dares,”_ Michael warns. “I will hunt Jeremy down and make him talk that bastard down from a terrible choice like that.”

Gavin laughs. He really tries to put his heart into it but maybe, as much as he talked Michael back from blame and pretended to be healed from it all, he’s still nursing a wide open gash.


	4. The One With Team Nice Dynamite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains blood, off-screen murder and one very unnecessary and brutal on-screen murder. All minor characters.

Matt’s door codes and security footage come in clutch when Michael finds every entrance overridden. No doubt Shifty’s work. While he leaves the hacking to Gavin he glances around. He hadn’t even realized that Ramsey Corp. Headquarters is in the same part of downtown that the Fake penthouse used to be. It had become prime real estate after they’d cleared out but he hadn't missed the droop in Gavin’s shoulders when they’d driven past the building. He’d seen the way his head tilted up in an attempt to catch a glimpse of it from in the van.

“Who owns it now?” Gavin asks now, eyes still trained on his work in front of him. They're sitting in the van, tucked against the back wall of the HQ and Gavin has his laptop out while he works the doors and downs the cameras inside. Michael glances out the window, up into the skyline and he realizes he can  _ see _ their old building right now.

“I don’t know,” Michael admits. “I try not to think about it.”

Gavin nods. “Just a moment now,” he says, but Michael hears the tightness in his voice despite how he tries to hide it.

“There we are,” Gavin says with a sigh. “Let’s get in quickly, they’re bound to notice all the unlocked doors soon.” He closes the laptop and slides it into his duffle bag, kicking it far into the footwell before hopping out of the van. Michael follows suit, stretching out his shoulders and limbering up, expecting to have to do no small measure of running. Which he wasn’t thrilled about.

“What do you say we try and stealth this?” Gavin asks, slinging his SMG onto his back and giving Michael a sidelong glance paired with a cheeky grin. Michael’s struck with the aching familiarity of it all.

“Us? Stealth?” Michael says in disbelief. He shakes his head. “No.”

“Team!” he says before he can stop himself. Gavin lets out a breathy chuckle.

“Nice!” Gavin continues, creeping up to the outside door and resting his hand on the handle.

_ “Dynamite!” _ Michael shouts, signalling Gavin to swing the door wide. They barrel into the building, Michael inching ahead to lead them through the winding hallways. The thump of their shoes on the floor and the thundering of Michael’s heart almost makes him believe that he’s back. Heistwork, preps and explosions.

A slamming of a metal door father down shakes him back to the present. Gavin speeds up to pace with him, not waiting for any kind of direction before he surges ahead and Michael curses his longer stride as he turns a corner and the same door bangs open. Michael grits his teeth and bites down the pain in his legs as he tries to follow as closely as he can.

Gavin had locked eyes with him then, in perfect pace he’d stared right into Michael’s eyes and known that he would disregard what Michael had said to him.

Straight into fucking danger he went sprinting, no regard for anything. Just like old times, then, huh?

Michael leads with his shoulder and slams into the door, pushing it open and nearly spilling into the room. It turns out to be the storeroom, the main one that all the products funnel through. Gavin is shouting, his voice echoing off the huge, high ceilings and Michael takes a few steps sideways to get his balance.

He walks right up against the barrel of a gun.

“Oh, fuck me,” he grits out, trying to see who’s got him out of the corner of his eye. It’s the woman from the botched exchange.  _ “Oh, fuck me,” _ he repeats.

Gavin’s voice carries over to him again, the sounds of a struggle. He can’t see where he is and that scares him.

“Drop it!” Gavin’s shouting. “Don’t think I won’t blow his head off!” Michael smirks at the sharp tone. He actually likes hearing Gavin take that tone. Much more than he thought he would.

Probably more than he  _ should, _ situation considering, as he feels warmth in his chest spread to his cheeks.

The woman hasn’t said anything yet, figuring that Michael’s not dumb enough to try and move. All he can do is hiss through the shooting pain in his knees and listen to Gavin try and talk his way out of a three-on-one fight. It’s a good thing he’s known for talking. He wonders briefly what happened to his SMG.

“Look, I can and will gun all three of you bastards down. Either, or you can step away from that console.” He sounds like he has the situation under control. Michael remembers the inventory console that’s situated behind a wall of cases, stacked neatly and hiding it from sight. It also has access to all the pending deals and meeting addresses where exchanges will be made. Which is not something that crews should ever have access to.

“So. How do you like the place?” Michael asks, voice tense. “All these juicy secrets and fun little weapons at your fingertips?” He hopes Gavin can stop Shifty from doing what’ll probably be uploading the exchange info for sabotage or something equally shitty.

The woman scoffs, rolling her eyes and cocking her hips in a stance that’s far too relaxed for someone with a gun to be assuming. Michael takes his chance, hand shooting out to grab the hers, holding the gun and his other aiming for her elbow as he forces her arm to bend, pointed up towards the ceiling. She shouts in alarm, panicking and pulling the trigger. Michael’s ears ring as the shot goes off, raining dust onto him from above. He twists the gun out of her fingers and tucks it quickly into his waistband, leading with a left hook and hitting her in the side of the jaw.

His wrist flares up in pain and Michael hisses in through his teeth as the woman goes down, shaking out his hand as she rolls away from him. She’s on her knees in an instant, lunging at Michael’s legs and she gets him off-balance. He stumbles, folding over forward to fall on her and not hit his head.

She grabs at his hair, yanking his head to the side to try and land a hit with her knee. He dodges, just short one bloody nose, and twists around, aiming with his elbow. His arm collides with her throat and she chokes out a scream, releasing his hair to clutch at her windpipe. Michael pushes her away with his foot, turning to stand and run farther but she grabs his leg again and this time he goes down.

Michael’s fall is broken by the sound of six gunshots and his forearm and both hurt in different ways. The woman snatches her gun back from Michael’s waistband and has a knee on his back before he can roll over from his stomach. It is deathly quiet aside from the sounds of her labored breathing and Michael’s blood rushing in his ears. His wrist and forearm are aching, and the woman is digging the barrel of her gun in between his shoulder blades. He can feel it clearly even through his bulletproof vest.

“You son of a bitch,” she spits, her voice hoarse from when he hit her in the throat.

“Don’t say that,” Gavin scolds, striding over to them. His heart thunders with relief and Michael tries to turn his head to see his boi but it hurts to strain that much with a knee and a gun to his back. The woman doesn’t waver, doesn’t point her gun at the new, obviously more formidable, target. He hears her sigh, deep and sharp and it reminds him of Ryan when he would get mildly inconvenienced by a target that  _ just wouldn’t die. _

“I hear you talk like that again about him and I’ll slit your throat,” Gavin says. His voice is smooth and mellow but the effect is shattered by the words themselves. “Get off him,” he demands.

No one moves. Michael can just barely see Gavin’s shoes in his peripheral and they’re somehow shinier than he remembers. He shakes out his hands and blood splatters the floor in wide arcs. He takes one step forward.

_ “Now!” _ Gavin shouts, his voice echoing throughout the room. The weight of the gun lifts from Michael’s back and he shifts his arms under him, pushing off the floor as hard as he can and throwing the woman off his back. He turns, meeting Gavin’s eyes for only a moment before pushing off the ground like a starter’s block and hurtling forward. He aims his palm at her nose, knowing it might kill her if he does, and jams his hand against her skull as hard as his momentum will take him.

Gavin comes up behind her, shoes scuffing on the concrete floor and he holds her head steady as Michael’s fist makes contact. It’s brutal, worse than so many things he’d done in the crew and the sound of bone cracking and crunching under his palm is sickening. There’s a beat before Gavin lets go and the woman falls, motionless, to the floor. Michael catches his eye as he wipes his bloody hand off on his pants and for a second there’s something so cold under all that green that he has to look away.

Gavin’s suit is covered in blood. Three men lay dead where he executed them behind the wall. Michael can’t see them. Doesn't  _ want _ to see them.

“Shifty’s out of the picture,” Gavin says conversationally as he takes off the nearly soaked jacket and folds it over his arm. His white dress shirt underneath is tinged pink at the sleeves. Michael takes the offered hand and is helped to his feet.

“You’ve got your building back. Should be a while before the rest of the crews go ahead and come after you.” He smiles like they haven’t just committed a joint murder. “We’ve got some breathing room.”

Michael nods numbly, trying not to stare at the way Gavin’s shirt stretches over his arms as he reaches up to unbutton the top three buttons.  _ Not the time, _ he scolds himself. Gavin glances around the enormous room, finally getting a look at it himself. “I’d like to change. Should I go back to the van, or… ?” He raises his eyebrows at Michael and it takes a second for his brain to catch up with the words.

“Geoff has a room upstairs,” he says, “there’s a bathroom and a closet. I don’t know if you could ever fit something of Geoff’s but I think I have things in there too.” Michael turns away, away from Gavin’s bloodstained form and the body of the woman. He doesn’t exactly want to imagine Gavin wearing his clothes right now because that’s just too familiar and things aren’t allowed to be familiar because they’ve changed so much. Michael doesn’t remember a time when Gavin _ wasn’t _ squeamish around their murders. Seeing him so calm and collected is jarring.

“You go on ahead, I have to call Geoff’s cleaners for… “ He gestures to all the blood.  _ “This.” _ Gavin gives him a thumbs up and a bright smile.

He leaves Michael to sit down on the concrete ground, not keen on giving his knees more of a workout. He likes to stay in the building as opposed to sleeping in his own apartment so Geoff’s spare room has everything he needs, including his painkillers. He’ll call the cleaners, probably order some food— he hasn’t fought like that in a long time and it had taken a lot out of him, he could eat everything in the entire city— and then pass out in his room upstairs for the rest of the day.

Michael has a very brief phone conversation with the cleaning service, something along the lines of: “Ramsey Corp., four dead, lots of blood,” and orders one of everything off the menu of Ryan’s favorite barbecue place.

He texts Gavin next, taking the time to update his contact and hope that he isn’t using a burner.

**_Michael:_ ** Can you get Matt to get the security back online? And the cameras

**_Boi:_ ** Got it

He figures Gavin will want to shower and change instead of trying to hack the building again and he has no doubt that  _ the Ringer _ can help them out. Matt’s always been a huge ally. As he waits for the cleaners, Michael figures he’ll park the van in the actual garage and retrieve Gavin’s duffle bag, too. He pushes himself shakily to his feet and winces his way back out the back of the building. The van is still there, Michael again surprised that it’s survived so long, in the condition and carrying the contents it is.

Once it’s safely in the garage and Michael hears the cleaners pull up, he opens the passenger side and drags Gavin’s duffle out. There’s a clicking inside, like metal against metal, but it’s muffled by what’s probably clothes. It piques his interest, however, and he can’t help but set the duffle on the back bumper and zip it open carefully. Inside, nestled between t-shirts and a handgun and a laptop is a pair of sunglasses.

More importantly, a pair of  _ achingly familiar, golden _ sunglasses.

Michael hasn’t seen these glasses since they lay cracked in half and lenses broken on a bank vault floor as Gavin was dragged away, nose bloodied and eyes wild, by the LSPD.

To think that he got himself a new pair. To think that he is holding on to the Golden Boy, despite his new job, new life, new continent. Michael smiles bitterly and tucks the sunglasses back into the duffle. He shows the cleaners to the blood-covered stockroom and decides to check his email while he waits for the food to show up. His office is surprisingly untouched, as far as he can tell when he shows up. The sound of power-washers can be heard down the hall and Michael reflects on just how unbelievable his life is.

His, or more accurately, the Ramsey Corp. Head’s inbox, is usually empty except from manufacturing and shipping confirmations. Now, though, it has one very important looking invitation in it. Michael groans, knowing he’s not going to enjoy whatever event he’ll be forced to go to as a prominent company head in Los Santos. Those get-togethers always make him want to gag. They were always more Gavin’s scene. And Ryan’s when he got to be a character.

_ Dear Esteemed Ramsey Corporation Head Representative, _ the email starts. Michael rolls his eyes.

_ We are honored to invite you to the Biannual Kaplain Corporation Fundraiser, Los Santos Division. Meet and do business with prominent members of the city’s criminal society. Enjoy a low-profile social environment. Free food and drinks provided. No entry fee, donations appreciated. Formal attire is required. Weapons are strictly prohibited. _

_ Below are enclosed two encoded tickets for you and your spouse. _ Michael glances down. There is a downloadable file attached to the email.

_ We are thrilled to be able to expect your arrival and participation. If you and your spouse are unable to attend for any reason, please reply to this email with a brief explanation as to why. _

_ Kaplain Corp. “In Los Santos, business is always booming!” _

There are other boring details, such as the time and place, but Michael is stunned. Kaplain Corp. is Ramsey’s biggest contender for arms sales in the criminal underworld. The only way they really ever stood a chance was by Geoff admitting when he built the company that he was the Fakes supplier when they were running. That had turned enough heads to get him off the ground and keep him going.

What unnerves Michael more than having to appear as the company’s head in front of a whole slew of other shitty people is the word  _ spouse, _ which appears twice in the email and stands out like the pain still throbbing in his knees.

In a panic, Michael accesses the mandatory legal information about Ramsey Corp. they were required to give to do business in Los Santos. And there it is, under “Employee Information.”

**Ramsey Corporation Head Representative: Marital Status.** **_Married._ **

Michael has never called someone so fast in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why yes, I do in fact have no idea how businesses work! Why yes, I did in fact bullshit all of this information!


	5. The One Where Michael Proposes

“Geoff. Why am I  _ married?” _ Michael snarls as soon as his former boss picks up.

“What?” Geoff sounds like he’s been caught in a nasty lie, and for all intents and purposes, he may very well be. Michael blows out a breath through his nose in an attempt to try and calm down but it only makes him feel like an angry bull, and the nose ring isn’t helping that image.

“The current marital status of the Ramsey Corp. Head. Fucking  _ married, _ Geoff.” Michael clicks off the information document with a jab of his finger and starts to download the tickets to his phone. Thank god for Google Drive.

“Oh. I can explain,” Geoff starts sheepishly.

Michael snorts. “I sure hope you can, because I and my  _ spouse who does not exist _ have to show up to this bullshit Kaplain fundraiser and I’m not keen on getting more guns pointed at me because I’m fucking single.” He will admit it’ll be an opportunity to sow the seeds of good business in the city, something that he made a promise to himself to do for Geoff. Can’t have his company tanking. As much as he wishes he could, if only just for the relief of never having to do it again.

“Jack and I got hitched a while back for financial purposes,” Geoff says and the sadness bleeds into his voice. It makes Michael’s heart clench.

He attempts to lighten the mood while downloading some of Gavin’s old decryption software for the tickets. He needs something to open them, a rudimentary precaution so only the recipient of the email can get them, he supposes.

“So what I’m hearing is you missed out on Gavin planning your wedding by not telling us,” he says. He knows if Gavin had ever caught wind of their marriage he would’ve insisted on some over-the-top ceremony with something exploding in the back and dangerous shenanigans, most likely. Maybe on Maze bank.

“Ugh, I’m honestly glad I dodged that bullet,” Geoff says and Michael can imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose like he does when he’s annoyed. He and Gavin share that quirk. Like father like son, he supposes.

“I’m not,” Michael mumbles. He would’ve liked to see what Gavin came up with. What would a Fake wedding be like?

“I have to find someone to marry by Friday night.” Michael’s eyes widen.  _ Friday night. _ That’s two days away. He’s not sure if anyone he knows in the city will ever agree. Ryan’s obviously out of the picture, still mourning his jacket.

“So you can give Gavin enough time to make a scrapbook?” Geoff jokes, still thinking of Gavin planning weddings.

Michael goes silent. “Oh no… Oh no, Geoff. You went and gave me the worst idea.” He gazes up at the ceiling. This is  _ beyond _ the worst idea. But it’s the only one he has and time is short.

“You’re welcome? Just don’t call Friday and tell me that you’ve married a hooker,” Geoff says. “I totally forgot that it still says married there, Michael, that’s my bad,” he amends and he really does sound sorry. Michael figures that if his plan goes through there’ll be no problem.

“It’s fine, Geoff. It just took me by surprise. I’m sure I’ll be fine. Just hurry the fuck up and find my replacement before I get myself killed, okay?” he reminds him. Geoff hums.

“Sure thing, Michael. Now go to that fundraiser and pretend to be refined.”

Geoff hangs up and Michael is left with two unopened ticket files and a notification that his food is at the door.

* * *

Michael watches the cleaning service leave the storeroom— with a wheeled cart full of suspiciously human-sized plastic bags and somehow grim expressions on their expressionless full-body cleaning suits— while inhaling a pulled pork sandwich, and makes sure all the doors are locked and the alarm system is in place before finally,  _ finally, _ making his way up to the third floor where Geoff’s spare room is. It’s late afternoon now, Michael can see that out the fancy window that’s in the elevator, and he’s ready to just eat more and sleep.

Gavin opens the door when he knocks, dressed in one of Michael’s sleeping shirts. It’s some band shirt he’s had forever, hangs a little too low on his shoulders to not be captivating, and his hair is still damp from showering. There’s a still moment where Michael’s eyes are glued to Gavin’s collarbone before he slips the duffle bag off his shoulder and slips past Gavin into the room, dropping at the foot of the single bed.

_ The single bed. _

“I— I brought food,” Michael says, staring at the queen bed like it’ll burst into flames if he glares hard enough. There’s space, of course, it’s not like that time he and Jack shared a twin (which is something Michael would rather forget). But Gavin is notorious for starfishing in his sleep and Michael has had the bruises to prove it. Yes. That’s why he’s so anxious at the prospect of sharing a bed with Gavin after two years.

Definitely.

Gavin comes up behind him and reaches past his shoulders for the food, which he’s trying to set on the bedside table like a normal person. He snatches the plastic bag from him and flops down on the bed, ignoring Michael’s scrambled warnings about  _ “the sauce, Gavin!” _ and unwrapping a sandwich for himself.

“Michael, you’re a lifesaver, boi!” he says, and somehow manages to bite into the barbecue without spilling it all over Geoff’s nice sheets. Michael watches his eyes scan the room idly, always flicking back to him. Michael glares at him, but it holds no heat.

“What?” he asks. “Something on my face?”

“Your hair’s all messed up. That woman ruined all your hard work this morning,” Gavin points out, joking. Michael’s hands go up to his head and he realizes that yes, in fact, his hair is sticking up at all angles and probably looks like someone had tried to yank it out. Which, okay, was exactly what happened.

“It’s fine,” Michael says, trying to smooth it back down. “I’m more worried about what happened to you,” he admits. He’d been uncharacteristically, or perhaps perfectly characteristically, scared for Gavin and he’s pretty sure his heart had leapt into his throat at the gunshots earlier.

Gavin re-wraps his sandwich and slides it back into the bag, patting the mattress next to him for Michael to sit down. He can feel Gavin’s demeanor change, seriousness slipping into his body language as Michael disrupts the bed with his weight.

“I got disarmed as soon as I rounded that corner to where the console was,” Gavin starts. His hands are clasped in his lap and he’s staring straight ahead with such an intensity that Michael is pretty sure he might stare a hole into the wall.

“Shifty and two other guys, all pistols and me without mine. I know it was stupid, I know I shouldn’t have gone ahead like that but it’s alright,” Gavin turns his head to grin at Michael, all teeth like an alligator, “I’m quick. Got one of the guys in a headlock, took his gun.”

“So,” Michael starts. “Those gunshots were all you?” Gavin winces.

“No?” he says. “One of ‘em popped two off at me, Shifty was already down by the time he thought of it. I only caught one of them on my vest, though.” He shrugs like that would soften the blow.

Michael gapes. “He shot you?” he screeches. “Where?” Michael furrows his brow, hands immediately searching Gavin’s torso for any bruising. He pushes the oversized shirt up over his ribs, zeroing in on a quickly blackening bruise just under them. He directs his gaze back up at Gavin, who has the audacity to look embarrassed. He pushes Michael’s hands away forcefully and tries to cover the bruise.

“It’s  _ nothing, _ Michael,” he tries to assure him. “I’m okay, it doesn’t hurt.”

“Bullshit,” Michael growls. “You’re just like Ryan!” he says, exasperated. “Injuries will not go away if you ignore them, they’ll get worse and you could get hurt even more or infected or— “ He fists his hands in his hair and takes four deep breaths, counting the seconds.

“Do you have trouble breathing? Does it hurt when you bend over?” Michael asks, the authority in his voice practically forcing Gavin to answer as he pulls his shirt all the way off. He shakes his head at both.

“How about when I do this?” Michael presses lightly to the bruise and Gavin chokes out a yelp, covering his mouth when Michael gives him an accusatory stare.

“That’s not fair,” he reasons, crossing his arms. “That’s like if I took a baseball bat to your knees.” Michael snorts at that, but it does remind him that his painkillers are sitting on the bedside table.

“Just promise me that you’ll tell me if it gets worse?” Michael says, locking eyes with Gavin and not wavering. Gavin shifts.

“Fine,” he concedes, “May I put my shirt back on?” Michael smirks.

“That’s  _ my  _ shirt, dumbass,” he points out as Gavin pulls it back over his head.

“I know, that’s why I picked it,” he says casually, reaching back for more food. Michael’s heart stops.

“What?” he asks, voice small. Gavin sputters, face going red as he leans back far enough to almost fall off the bed.

“Because I can’t fit Geoff’s,” he says quickly, eyes darting back and forth. Michael lays heavily back on the bed, arms stretched out above his head.

“You can just say you like my clothes, Gavin,” he teases, relishing in Gavin’s squawking as he shoves the rest of his sandwich in his mouth so he doesn't have to talk, but his body language does enough talking that Michael can’t help but crack a smile that quickly delves into giggling. He waits until Gavin’s had his fill and wanders off to the bathroom with his duffle bag before he leans over, grabs the small bottle tucked almost out of sight behind the lamp on the bedside table and pops the cap on his painkillers.

Gavin is unusually quiet when Michael climbs into bed with him an hour later. It’s dark and he’s turned away but he’s definitely still awake. Michael slides his foot under the covers and kicks Gavin’s thigh lightly.

“Hey, boi?” he whispers. The curtains are drawn, the sun only just having crept behind Chiliad. They both wanted to get as much sleep as possible, however, so it was an early night. He’d never been more grateful for blackout curtains.

Gavin grumbles something about sleep that Michael doesn’t care to decipher — despite the feeling that creeps up when he thinks of accidentally waking a tired Gavin, still fresh off a plane— and rolls over, his green eyes glittering in the soft light from the nightlight in the bathroom.

“What’s wrong, boi?” Gavin asks. Michael traces patterns in the sheets between them, his finger sliding over the silky smooth fabric.

“I missed you.” Michael flicks his eyes over Gavin’s face and hopes he can’t hear how much Michael wants to scream.

Gavin softens, if it were even possible for him to be  _ more _ , and the scream in Michael’s throat subsides.

“I missed you too.”

Michael will make sure that he’ll never get tired of hearing that. Those words, in Gavin’s voice, the lilt of his syllables and pitch of his tone and way he can  _ hear _ the smile in it.

“I’m just so glad you’re back.” And with those words whispered in the dwindling space between them, Michael wraps his arms around Gavin and holds him close. It's been so long since he's held another person in his arms and his eyes start to prickle with tears. He's sure he won't be getting a wink of sleep but that doesn't matter, all that does is how warm Gavin feels, how  _ safe _ Michael does with his boi right next to him.

They fall asleep like that, Michael into something more fitful, but their breaths fall into sync as the dark sky outside, beyond the curtains, starts to show the stars.

* * *

Michael wakes up earlier than Gavin, when morning comes. His back is warm with Gavin’s weight as he’s got Michael held like a precious treasure, a dragon guarding his horde. His chin is tucked over Michael’s shoulder and he has one leg tangled around Michael’s. He’s going to have a hell of a time extricating himself from Gavin and it probably won’t be done without waking him up.

Michael resigns himself to waiting, and it’s not like he’s not comfortable. As much as he enjoys holding someone, it's even better to be  _ held.  _ Bonus points since it’s  _ Gavin. _ He should probably be a little more self-conscious about it all, considering Gavin's insistence that what they had was required to stay a business-appropriate relationship (and Michael grinds his teeth at the unfairness of that even as he ignored it). But he can't bring himself to feel anything less than elation.

Maybe it's simply Gavin's presence in his life again, or the weight at his back— an undeniable truth and affirmation of his existence in the liminal space that is the bed and the darkness— but he wants to make this last.

Wants to make  _ them _ last.

He was a coward before, never saying what mattered until it didn't matter anymore.

And now it matters again and Michael will die before he wastes what little time he has  _ yet again. _

His mind starts to wander from there, to plans for the morning, plans for the fundraiser, plans for staying alive.

And then, to plans from what seem like a lifetime ago, the  _ what do we do now? _ meeting. When the crew had all sat, tense and exhausted, around the Fakes heist room table and wondered what was next for them. If there even  _ was _ a ‘next’ for the Fake AH Crew.

There was not.

  
  


**_Two Years Ago, Fake AH Crew Penthouse_ **

_ “I am hereby disbanding the Fake Achievement Hunter Crew. Effective immediately.” Geoff curls his hands into fists, crosses his arms like he’s trying to keep himself from punching Michael’s lights out. He doesn’t blame him. He blames himself. _

_ Gavin starts at his words, half jumping out of his seat. It catches on the carpet and tumbles backwards. “What? No, no, you don’t have to do that, they don’t even know you or Ryan, it’s—” Gavin’s gesturing to the room like no one else can  _ see. _ Michael watches cracks appear in Gavin’s armor, his persona faltering, and he’s dripping golden ichor, it’s like the world is crumbling around him. It’s like it hasn’t already turned to  _ **_dust._ **

_ Michael sits numbly, Geoff at his side and Gavin across from him. He notices Jeremy with his head in his hands, Ryan rubbing circles into his back as he’s hunched over the table and Jack is just pacing. Steady, even steps, it’s a dangerous rhythm. _

_ “Gavin? We’ve been compromised. We can’t stay together. Not only the LSPD, but nearly everyone in this damn city who doesn’t live under a rock knows our faces, our names…” Geoff pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a sharp sigh. He shakes his head and Gavin chokes back something just short of a sob. Michael feels his heart tear in two, a deep gash down his chest and into his gut. _

_ “This is dangerous. We’ve lost our hold. There’s no way we can survive without our anonymity,” Ryan mumbles, growling from behind his paint. He says it like the thought isn’t on everyone else’s minds. _

_ “Oh my god. Oh my god,” Michael starts babbling, burying his face as deep in his dirt-stained hands as he can manage. They smell like metal, like iron bars and handcuffs and hot gunbarrels and it was only a matter of time before they ran out of luck. “I’ve screwed us. I’ve screwed us so bad.” Gavin slides his hand across the table and he has to lean to get there but he puts his hand on Michael’s shoulder. _

_ Jack stops pacing. “Michael, you aren’t at fault, we all’ve made mistakes.” Her voice is tight, he can imagine her gritting it out through her teeth, it’s like she doesn’t realize what he’s done. But somehow she still sounds like she believes it. Jack and her superpowers, damn it all. _

_ Michael slams his hands down on the table, sitting up and glaring at the wall straight ahead, just past Gavin’s shoulder. “Jack, I fucking trapped us in the vault! I said our names! We were waiting on a silver platter for those dumbasses!” he shouts, anger holding him by the horns. _

_ “Hey,” Gavin shoots back, like all the fervor and force of the heist is still in him. “The LSPD are pretty thick, who’s to say this won’t all blow over? Matthew’s working hard on wiping it all,” he reasons. It sounds like a plea more than anything. _

_ “It won’t matter. They’ve got us all on file now, perfect fucking matches. It’s impossible to live in this country without them having everything on you, huh.” Jeremy sounds despondent, voice still muffled by his hands and it seems like even Ryan’s steady, rhythmic circles can’t calm him. _

_ “I got past that,” Ryan points out. He smiles like they aren’t all screwed beyond measure. _

_ “We can’t all fake our deaths, Vagabond,” Jeremy manages, sounding more like himself, but that name really drives it home for Michael. They’ve always treated the penthouse like a safe haven, no masks, no codenames. But now all that doesn’t matter. Now, more than ever, they have to protect those who can still get away. _

_ “I can’t believe I’ve done this.” Michael knows he sounds heartbroken, he is. _

_ “Don’t beat yourself up, baby, we’re okay. We might just have to fly low for a while.” Jack’s usual tone is back, just a beat behind Jeremy and there’s no way this is all right because Michael… Michael and all his flames and explosions and  _ stupidity _ has set their lives on fire. _

_ They were  _ **_not_ ** _ okay. “You think we won’t have every single hitman, bounty hunter and assassin on our asses after they learn everything there is to know about us?” Michael glances around the room and he knows he’s right. Wishes he wasn’t. “Kingpin’s right. We are nothing without our anonymity.” He almost spits it out, stress and frustration and an aching kind of helplessness that eats away at him. The room is deathly silent. _

_ Jeremy breaks it, sharp and quick. “Fine. I’m going cold tonight. I don’t know about the rest of you, but don’t freak out if I’m not here in the morning. I won’t answer, I won’t contact.” He stands up from the table, wiping his face with his sleeve. Michael catches a flash of genuine pain on Ryan’s face as he shoulders past and closes the door behind him. _

_ “I’ll wait. Feel this out.” Jack’s voice is soft in contrast and she sits down in Jeremy’s vacated seat, clasping her hands together on the table. _

_ “My life’s here. I’m not going anywhere.” Ryan shrugs. Michael wonders why he’d even open his mouth, they all know he’s safe. Los Santos can’t lose the Vagabond overnight. _

_ “What are you gonna do, Gavin?” Geoff asks, his voice is soft and caring and for a second Michael almost forgets where they are and what they’re doing. Gavin gazes up at Geoff, eyes flicking back to Michael for a moment. _

_ “I don’t know.” He sounds broken. Like shattered glass, a million golden pieces of the sun and Michael is standing, hands pierced through with shards because  _ **_he did this._ **

. . .

Michael isn’t sure if he’ll ever be able to let go of the past. Moving forward is a near-impossible uphill journey for him, especially since the Fakes were his whole life. They shaped him into who he is now. Who would he be if he just let them go, just like that?

And it was him, after all, who did it.  _ Screw whatever Gavin says, _ he tells himself. He is and will always be responsible for tearing the Fakes down. He can’t let go of all that blame, the wretched responsibility. He’s grabbing on, a whiteknuckle hold, to the things he used to have.

No one gets to blame him for that.

Gavin wakes up not long after, wide yawns and lazy stretches and he crawls out of bed like being attached to Michael doesn’t phase him. Michael isn’t sure if he appreciates that or not. He lets Gavin disappear into the bathroom while he changes, downs a few painkillers, and reaches into the bedside drawer, pulling out a silver chain with a ring attached. Now is the time to act upon that terrible plan he’d gotten when he talked to Geoff. Even if it does make his hands shake something fierce.

Gavin doesn’t even get a moment to compose himself when he sees Michael standing in the bathroom doorway. His eyebrows make a slow ascent, a silent inquiry. Michael sighs, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the ring. He takes Gavin’s hand, trying not to lose his nerve as Gavin opens his mouth in shock. The painkillers haven’t started to work yet, so when Michael gets down on one knee,  _ it hurts. A lot. _ He winces, looking up at Gavin and giving him a weak smile.

Gavin?” He starts. It’s fake, it’s just for a job, but his heart is thundering so loud in his ears he barely hears what he says next. “W-will you pretend to be my husband?”


	6. The One With The Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rises from the grave after five months* Good evening. I hope this chapter compensates for the hiatus? Enjoy, I will be finishing this fic as soon as possible, don't worry!
> 
> By the way, I went back and made some minor changes to chapter five, so maybe go back and refresh your memory.

When Michael reaches out and takes Gavin’s hand in his own, he’s gentle like he just might shatter. His fingertips shake as he reaches into his pocket with his free hand and pulls out… the golden ring that Gavin’d given to Michael the night he had decided to flee the country. That quiet night that had felt like velvet and Gavin had pretended like he’d still be there in the morning.

_ “I’d like you to have this.” Gavin says. Michael’s eyes are shining and he can’t tell if it’s just the light. “You can’t give me your favorite ring, Gavin,” he argues. His voice has that familiar bite to it and it makes his heart flutter. “I  _ can _ give you my favorite ring, Micool boi,” Gavin says, teasing him with the silly nickname. “Because you’re my favorite person.” _

“Gavin?” Michael asks softly, bringing Gavin out of his memories. “W-will you pretend to be my husband?” he asks. Gavin’s more surprised by the fact that Michael still has the ring than he is by his question. Which is odd, because he’s been dreaming about that question for over five years.

“Of course,” he says, like the ‘pretend’ doesn’t bother him. “Of course,” like he’s been asked to grab something off the top shelf. “Of course,” because  _ of course _ he will pretend marry the love of his life.

Of course it won’t blow up in his face.

It turns out, Gavin realizes while Michael explains the situation, he's fallen in love with an idiot. Which isn't news to him, really, but every word out of Michael’s mouth makes him wonder if he’s the only one hearing these things.

"So you decided the best thing to do while  _ hunted by two Los Santos crime gangs _ is go to a party?" He asks, eyebrows arching dangerously. Michael waves his hands dismissively.

"No, dumbass, my hands are tied. I can't refuse or else Kaplain is gonna turn me into a slice of Swiss cheese!" He falls onto the bed, the impact rumpling his shirt enough to ride up and expose a strip of his stomach. Gavin's eyes never leave that skin as he tries to reel it back in.

"Kaplain, the arms dealers, who'll most likely be hosting crewmembers at this little event?" He guesses. "What's the harm in telling them you can't come because it endangers your safety?" It isn’t like Michael doesn’t have any sense of self-preservation. But the whole setup sounds like the exact opposite of what Gavin logically thinks they should be doing.

“It’s not a party. It’s a  _ fundraiser _ and, more importantly, exposure for my company. My job here is to make sure Geoff doesn’t go under before he can find my replacement. I have to do my job.”

“You understand that,  _ don’t you?” _ It comes out as snide and maybe a little mean, especially paired with the little sneer Michael gives him that’s full of teeth, but Gavin doesn't miss what’s implied there. He sighs, covering his face with his hands.

“I deserve that,” he grumbles.

"You do, and a whole lot more," Michael agrees, but all the bite is gone from his voice. "But you'll be there too."

He sits up, tugging his shirt back down, and Gavin sits next to him. "I know, but what if— " He doesn't have the heart to finish off that sentence with a 'what if I'm not enough to keep you safe' and lets Michael fill in the blanks.

"It's going to be  _ fine, _ Gavin," Michael assures him. He puts a steady hand on Gavin's shoulder and it's maybe a little surprising considering how he was shaking just a moment ago.

"I trust you."

Gavin sucks in a breath. His heart is thumping against his ribcage like a trapped bird.

"Okay. Okay, alright," he concedes. "We'll need a solid plan, though."

* * *

Gavin trudges into the bedroom, groaning like his life is falling apart around him. He flops down on the bed next to where Michael is sitting against the headboard with a laptop on his thighs.

"Aren't you supposed to be casing the venue,  _ Bodyguard?" _ Michael asks, eyes never leaving the screen.

"Was. Can't anymore." Gavin rolls over onto his back and frowns at the ceiling.

"They're already setting up, so I can't go strolling around the building without looking  _ right _ sus." He props himself up on his forearms and squints at Michael’s screen. “Won’t help if anyone recognizes me the night of, either.”

Michael is typing up an email and Gavin’s suddenly very impressed by how he keeps typing out full sentences while talking to Gavin.

“So, we’ll case the night of.” Gavin frowns incredulously at Michael. “I’ve got this, trust me.” He lifts his fingers off the keyboard and turns to look at Gavin.

“Have you got stealth gear and a formal suit?” Gavin half-nods. Stealth? Yes. he can blend in with shadows like  _ that. _ But unfortunately, having blood stains on it disqualifies a suit from being appropriate formalwear.

“I’ll need something new for the evening,” he mutters. “Shall we go suit shopping, Michael boi?” He perks up, his love of spending never having left him in all his years. Michael wrinkles his nose.

“You can go, I don’t need anything. Part of the plan. I’m using Ryan’s old grey number.” Michael’s back to eyeing the screen and Gavin’s beginning to get antsy.

“Aren’t you going to fill me in?” He demands a little breathlessly. Michael sighs, like it’s  _ such a burden _ and closes the laptop.

“Fine. Here’s how it goes…”

* * *

Something about having to part ways with Michael just a few hours shy of the event feels like signing his stomach up for gymnastics lessons. It’s nerve-wracking when so many things in Michael’s slipshod plan could fall apart at any moment. But isn’t that the Fake way? Except that has nothing to do with it anymore because they aren’t  _ Fakes _ anymore. Gavin finishes his rounds of the event building with climbing trepidation. He slips behind a parked car in the lot and pulls his black balaclava up over his face. A pair of well-dressed people walk past and the sound of their fancy shoes and polite, quiet laughs drowns out his heartbeat as he holds his breath, pressing against the car to hide more in the shadows.

Michael is set to show up any moment and Gavin has to be ready exactly twelve minutes after he walks through the doors. Time to find a secluded alleyway and change, Gavin thinks.

He has all entries, fire exits, windows, and other points of interest settled in his head to stay for the night when he starts skirting the street so he can emerge farther down and not attract unwanted gazes. He idly fiddles with his cufflinks as he goes, never calming down. He’s not going to be able to breathe until he sees Michael again.

After waiting a safe amount of time down the street, Gavin makes his way to the entrance of the venue, has them check his ticket, fixes his jacket sleeves and unfolds his golden sunglasses from where he’d tucked them into his breast pocket. To complete the look, he tells himself.

There is something very wrong when Gavin walks into the building. He’s dressed in a new black suit, white shirt and tie underneath. That’s not it. Michael showed up on time, he can see that, tugging at the sleeves of his suit that fit wrong  _ everywhere _ . But that’s not it. The building is just another downtown event space, loud and bright and filled past capacity with very specifically  _ too-rich _ people. There are glittering fabrics and fake laughs and drinks that aren't nearly alcoholic enough to get him through the evening.

Even if he  _ was _ allowed to drink on the job.

No, that's all normal. Gavin's senses zero in on Michael immediately. He's stiff and awkward in the ill-fitting suit he's stuffed into. That's  _ not  _ normal. Someone is talking to him, leaning against the bar tucked into the corner of the large room. Michael's sitting on a stool at the bar and looks like he's trying to collapse in on himself. He keeps leaning away, a sharp grin plastered on his face. Gavin wonders if he'd bite the guy's head off if it wouldn't get them kicked out.

He'd like to see that happen.

With a huff Gavin strides over, weaving in between people and their conversations. His job is to keep Michael safe, and as far as he's concerned this  _ counts. _ Being uncomfortable falls under being unsafe.

With a tug at his suit jacket to smooth it down and a cursory hand through his hair he steps around the guy at the bar and places a hand on Michael's shoulder. He clears his throat, eyes slowly tracking over Michael's form before settling sharply on the man across from them.

"How's your evening been, darling?" He says, leaning in to speak lowly in Michael's ear. Gavin can feel him relax, the tightness in his shoulders ebbing away. He’s supposed to be Michael’s husband, for all that it matters now. He’s going to milk this opportunity dry.

"Better now that you're here," Michael says brightly, turning his head to press a kiss to Gavin's cheek. He has to keep himself from stumbling back and clutching at his heart. Sure, Gavin  _ knew _ it would be difficult to pretend like this with Michael but it is so much more real than he had anticipated.

With the sound of his heart beating hard against his ribs, Gavin tugs at the loose collar of Michael's jacket and clicks his tongue.

"Oh, sweetheart, who  _ dressed you?" _ He asks, taking off his sunglasses, mock disgust lacing his voice. "You look like you're getting swallowed up by all this." He reaches down and starts unbuttoning the jacket, Michael following his hands with a nervous gaze.

"You know we were running late," he mumbles. “I didn’t have time this week to go get fitted so I had to get one of my old ones.” Gavin smirks.  _ At least he's sticking to the plan, _ he thinks.

The man leaning against the bar is getting impatient and Gavin knows it. He can see, out of the corner of his eye as he slips Michael's jacket off his shoulders, that the guy keeps opening and closing his mouth and trying to find a time to interrupt.

"That’s a right shame, I was looking forward to seeing you all dolled up," he mumbles. Gavin folds the jacket carefully and places it in Michael's lap, ignoring the man completely. Michael colors at his words, coughing lightly to cover his sharp intake of breath.

"There, much better." With a smile he circles Michael's pressed shirt collar with his finger and pulls him closer. 

"Can't wait to take off the rest," he purrs. Michael's cheeks light up, his eyes going wide as he glances away. Gavin feels his stomach swoop at the sight. He can  _ see _ Michael's breath pick up and he swallows down the butterflies and backs off  _ just so, _ draping his arm over Michael's shoulders and leaning against him a little.

"E-excuse me? We were having a conversation?" The man at the bar finally works up the nerve to speak. Gavin rolls his eyes at Michael, getting a tiny smile from him.

Gavin turns to him, leveling him with a hard, uninterested gaze. "Didn't look like that from where I was. A little too  _ one-sided," _ he hisses, hugging Michael against him. He's getting possessive. Not that he can't explain it away later, of course. But he should be careful. Can't go making all this feel  _ too _ real.

"There was no conversation," Michael confirms. "This asshole was hitting on me and didn't listen when I told him I had a fucking  _ husband," _ He growls. 

"Oh." Gavin pushes away from Michael and stands tall and, realizing he has a good few inches on the guy, takes two full steps forward. His stare quickly darkens into a glare.

"Do you wanna watch me wipe the floor with him or should we just leave?" He says, directing it at Michael but keeping his eyes locked on the guy. Michael stands up, throwing his jacket over his shoulder as he steps up behind Gavin and rests his hands on both his shoulders, massaging slightly.

"We can't leave, baby, the party's not over. I still have work, believe it or not." Michael leans forward and buries his face in the crook of Gavin's neck. Gavin feels a shiver down his spine as Michael's breath ghosts over his skin.

He lets himself be consumed by that action for  _ just a moment, _ a little voice whispering 'this could be real' before he snaps back into action, cocking his hips and finding one of Michael's hands to lace with his own.

"Awww, that's too bad. I wanted to see what he'd look like with a few less teeth." Gavin bares his at the man, relishing the feeling as he cowers away, tripping over his feet as he turns and leaves the bar as fast as he can without running.

Michael pulls away from Gavin suddenly, slipping his fingers out of his hand and straightening out his shirt. Gavin clenches his hand to distract from the loss of warmth.

"What'd he say to you?" Gavin's voice is too quiet. He's turned away, staring at a spot on the floor. He dropped the confident facade as soon as the guy left but now it's crumbling. He is not Michael's fake husband or his bodyguard or even his real, goofy self. He is just a man drowning in love.

"Michael,  _ what did he say to you?" _ Gavin snaps, whirling around and finding Michael's eyes when he doesn't get an answer. He watches as color rises to Michael's cheeks and he tries to break eye contact.

"I— it doesn't matter, he— " Michael stutters, pushing a hand through his curls and huffing a shaky breath. "It was just  _ words, _ he didn't do anything."

"That's not the point." Gavin is almost surprised at how forceful his words are. His brow pulls together as Michael crosses his arms and sighs. It's rough, almost like a growl and his cheeks color red. This time it's not from embarrassment, Gavin can tell. It's something else. Maybe shame, but he doesn't want it to be that.

"I fucking know that's not the point, Gavin!" Michael grits out. "The  _ point _ is what am I supposed to say that'll make you leave it the fuck alone?"

Gavin freezes.

"It is my  _ job," _ Gavin starts, feeling his throat closing up, "to make sure that you are  _ safe, _ Michael. That is not safe." He wildly gestures to the crowd, hoping he gets the point across.

"He didn't touch me," Michael spits out, and it's like his words are laced with spikes. "I'm  _ fine, _ why can't you leave it? It wasn't a big deal, you got me out of it, now I need you to back the  _ fuck _ off."

"But you looked  _ terrible, _ Michael. If he  _ said _ anything to you that you didn't like I am going to break his spine in half. Being unsafe doesn't just mean physically." His voice softens at the end, filled with worry.

"I don't want to talk about it, I don't want to talk about it, I don't want to tell you what he fucking said to me,  _ please just— " _ Michael heaves a breath and it's so careful that Gavin feels like he's holding back a flood. His hands shake as he presses them to his face.

Gavin's chest starts to constrict and it's hard to do anything more than speak, however weak his voice comes out.

"What did I do?" He know he sounds broken, he  _ knows _ that his voice is just this side of fucking shattered but he needs to know. Gavin has to know what he did to make Michael turn around and act like this. He was fine a minute ago. He was  _ perfect. _ What else could it be than something  _ he  _ did?

"Michael, please, tell me what I did wrong," he pleads. He doesn't move. He doesn't step forward and circle Michael's shoulders with his arms and just  _ hold _ him, he doesn't do anything except beg.

"Why do you always think it's you?" Michael demands. Gavin frowns.

"Because you always say it is. Because I haven't ever seen you like this and I am going to worry myself to death if I can't fix it." He should stop. He should shut his mouth before he gives away too much. "Because I opened my dumb mouth and now you're— " he gazes at Michael, even when he knows he can't see through his hands.

"Tell me what it is so I can help you," he tries again.

"Gavin. Can you  _ please _ leave me alone before I do something that I'll regret for the rest of my life?" Michael manages, lifting his head and fixing Gavin with a stare that could shatter glass. His face is still red and now Gavin  _ knows _ it's shame and his heart twists.

"What's going on?" He sounds scared, can hear it clear as day in his own voice.

Michael shakes his head helplessly and rushes past Gavin, stepping out of his reach as he tries to stop him. Gavin doesn't lose him in the crowd. He's not too disoriented that he forgets his training. But he can't follow. Not yet. All he can do is watch from afar and make sure Michael is as safe as he can be.

Gavin has a job. He squeezes his eyes shut and mutters out curses under his breath. He can't get caught up in all this. This can never be anything more than a job. They’re not in a crew anymore, it’s been too long for them to go back to what they were— whatever that even was— and nothing they’ve  _ done _ can matter. It can’t be more than any other job.

"It can't be more," he mutters.

But god, does he want it to.


	7. The One Where They Crash A Party

Michael slips back into place next to Gavin at the bar a little while later. His jacket is gone, Gavin doesn’t know where it is, and his hair looks like hands have been run through it time after time. He doesn’t look at Gavin, just orders something strong and taps his fingers on the bar top.

“No one’s showed up to punch my lights out yet,” he says conversationally. Gavin  _ likes _ eye contact with Michael, which is why he’s a bit ticked off that there is none right now. He smiles nonetheless.

“That’s good. Otherwise we’d have a few unfortunate dead bodies to deal with,” he shoots back. Michael doesn’t match his energy. Gavin huffs and tries again. “What’s wrong, darling?” He leans against Michael’s shoulder slightly.

“Nothing,” Michael answers. It’s unconvincing. The bartender probably thinks they have a bad marriage. Gavin reaches over and covers Michael’s left hand with his own, fingertips running along the gold wedding band that he had picked up the night after Michael had fake proposed, just so they could match.

“Now, I know that’s not true. But we only have about an hour here before we can leave, alright?” Gavin tries to reassure him. “Then you can tell me all about it, my love.” He’s aware that he’s laying it on thick, but at this point he doesn’t have it in him to mind.

Michael suddenly snorts into his drink and eyes Gavin sidelong. “Actually,  _ honey,” _ and Gavin does wince at the way he forces that word past his teeth, “we’re leaving sooner than that.” He doesn’t say exactly how long because the bartender seems a tad too interested in cleaning the section of bar top closest to them and hasn’t moved since Michael arrived. So  _ soon _ it is.

Gavin instinctually wants to assume that soon is fifteen minutes, a little unofficial code that the Fakes had developed over the years, but he can’t bank their job on something so sentimental. Michael knocks back the last of his drink and slides out of the barstool, giving Gavin a chaste peck on the cheek as he leaves. Gavin takes a second to school his features and not look as shocked as he feels. He doesn’t order anything. Of course he doesn’t.

His fingers trace the gold ring he’s wearing until his touch warms the metal.

* * *

Michael slips into the bathroom a moment later and locks the door, leaning against it as he rummages around in his suit pocket to find the detonator he’d brought with him. Trying to visualize where he’d placed the charges around the building and under various parked cars, he reasons they aren’t close enough to where the bar is to warrant any fear about Gavin’s proximity.

He slams his thumb down on the detonator. For a second there’s only a deafening silence before the building erupts in enormous booms and shudders. Michael hurries across the bathroom to the small transom window and wrenches it open. He’s counting down the seconds until Gavin will meet him outside it.

_ Six, five, four— _

Michael hoists himself halfway through the window, using the sink to stand on.

_ Three, two, one— _

“Michael!” Gavin hisses from below and he looks down. His arms are outstretched and Michael wiggles through the window, practically tumbling into Gavin’s arms. He clutches onto his friend for a second, getting his bearings. Gavin is covered in dust.

“Let’s go,” he says with a triumphant grin on his face and Michael can’t agree more.

They make it back to the safe house in one piece and unfollowed, as far as either of them can tell.

Gavin’s breaths come heavy and shuddering as they both collapse onto the couch to rest.

Gavin sucks in a breath. ”Michael, I—” He snaps his mouth shut. What did he say about Michael being a client? What did he tell himself about endangering his job, their  _ lives _ if he got caught in this?  _ This is not the time or the place, _ he tells himself.  _ This is also, _ he decides,  _ not the person. _

But… it is. He knows he’s never and probably never will love anyone more than he does Michael. He knows he’s fooling himself, repeating whatever half-heartbreaks he’d assault himself with during their Fake days. He knows it hurts, more than the fucking bruise on his ribs, more than seeing Michael screaming bloody murder and hearing his voice echo sharply in the compromised bank vault as they were dragged away from each other.

There’s hurt, but under it is something that he’ll never give up. That soaring, fluttering feeling wherever he looks at Michael, the jolt in his stomach at the sound of his voice. In his eyes, in his heart and his mind, that is worth all the pain.

“Michael,” and he swallows down his love, if just for a moment. “I care about you so much.” He feels like a coward for not saying the right words.

“I know.”

"I will be here… if you ever want to talk. About anything, it doesn’t even matter. Whatever you need.” His stare matches Michael’s and for a second they do nothing except look at each other.

And then Michael realizes where they’ve escaped back to.

“Wait a minute—” He flicks his eyes around the room and bursts out laughing. “I’m so dumb, I was supposed to take us back to HQ but I didn’t!” He throws his head back and laughs in that giddy way that Gavin loves, but reality he loves everything about him anyway.

Michael settles down enough to breathe again and demands Gavin take a shower first. He leans back against the couch and sighs as soon as the door is closed. His heart is hammering in his chest as he hears the water turn on. He  _ has to tell him. _

Michael has had enough of pretending.

When they’re both showered and sitting in the small but surprisingly comfortable bed in the back room Michael turns to Gavin and levels him with a stare he can’t shake.

“I need to talk to you,” he starts and then doesn’t stop.

“I didn’t want to tell you then because you’re here on a job and you’ve already said how we have to keep this professional but Gavin, you make it  _ so hard _ to pretend like I’m not still in love with you.

“And I don’t even think this is the first time I’ve thought about it. Okay, no, I know it isn’t. I felt it… when we were in the vault. I didn’t have any time to think but I still knew that I didn’t want to lose you. Because you’re my best friend. And I love you. I am  _ in love _ with you.”

Gavin is speechless, stunned into silence but Michael can see his brain working and starts to fidget with his hands as Gavin opens and closes his mouth a few times, trying to work out what to say.

“Michael…” His voice is quiet and gentle when it comes out. “Fuck what I said before,” he leans in closer, closer, they’re almost touching now, Michael can feel the ghost of Gavin’s breath on his lips, “I love you.”

They’re in bed later, curled up against each other with nothing but warmth between them. Michael hasn’t felt so at ease in years. His chest is filled with a softness he thought he’d never get back, a familiar and old sensation that he wants to grab and hold and never let go of. His eyes slip shut and he sleeps deeply and comfortably next to Gavin.

Michael is awoken when it’s still dark out to a text from Geoff. It’s short, to the point, and has attached personnel files for his convenience.

**G:** _ Found your replacements _

Michael squints against the bright light of his phone as he reads out the names and gives a cursory glance to the headshots. Fiona Nova and Trevor Collins, huh? He nods to himself and shuts off his phone, turning around to slip his arms around Gavin’s waist and nuzzle into the crook of his neck.


	8. Giants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Giants - Dermot Kennedy

The abrasive fluorescent lights in the bank make Gavin thankful he’s wearing his sunglasses. He and Michael sneak down the hallway to the vault, letting Jack and Jeremy take care of the people at the front. Gavin pulls his bandana farther up his face, making sure it doesn’t slip down.

Michael makes quick work of blowing open the vault doors and they slip inside.

_ “Alright, no alarms tripped, you should have plenty of time. Fill up and get out,” _ Geoff says over their earpieces.  _ “Beardo, get your ass back there and speed things up.” _

Jack appears beside them seconds later, helping Gavin and Michael shovel their take into duffle bags. Their movements are controlled, not yet frantic, but Gavin can hear his heart thundering in his chest and it’s taking a lot of brainpower to keep his breaths as steady as they are. Jack is talking in hushed tones, half trying to count as stacks of cash fall into the bags and half trying to convince everyone that this heist is going to go fine, it’ll be  _ just like all their other ones. _

And then time freezes. Everything is suspended in a silver kind of dust. Gavin blinks and suddenly there’s red lights flashing in the vault and blaring alarms that make his ears ache. He grimaces, trying to continue with his job— if there’s an alarm they have four minutes minimum, that’s how it’s always been before— but Geoff’s voice comes harsh through the comms now.

_ “V, get Jeremy out of there, he’s  _ beyond _ compromised, vault team?” _ He takes a half-second breath in,  **_“OUT! NOW! DROP IT AND GO!”_ **

Gavin can count the times he’s heard this tone from Geoff on one hand. He drops what he’s holding. Michael swears, Jack grabs the duffle he dropped on the floor and two gunshots ring out. Gavin stares at the vault door, two dead police officers lying on the ground. Michael’s pistol is raised. There is one second  _ only one single second of silence and pause _ before thundering footsteps and shouts invade Gavin’s senses and he hears Michael panic and call Jack’s name and there's nothing he can do, he certainly can’t blame Michael so he grabs his own pistol but it’s a fraction too late because he’s pushed to his knees and a scream rips through the air between them—

Michael’s face is bare, his mask with the bear mouth snarling and full of teeth is off, his eyes are wide and scared and he screams, one word, just one and it’s all Gavin can hear for weeks  _ months _ after in his dreams, after he runs, after he flees, after he hides and disappears on him it’s—

**_“Gavin!”_ **

The sound rips from his throat and Gavin’s own breath is trapped under hard ice and a heavy thumping. His own mask is torn off, sunglasses slapped off his face and they clatter to the ground amidst all the yelling and the sounds of metal scraping. They get crushed under some cop’s boot, and Gavin’s heart clenches. It doesn’t matter, they don’t matter, he can get new ones, but it’s like his hope is snuffed out, a tiny candle flame smothered under a glass cup. Gavin tries to reach out to Michael, but his hands are cuffed behind him so he  _ leans, _ like if he wants it enough he can shield Michael with just his heart, just the overwhelming rush of blood in his veins.

He doesn’t. He  _ can’t. _

Everything goes black.

  
  


When Gavin wakes up in his own bed, he expects to walk out into another of Geoff’s lectures about how hard it is to bail them out time after time. Instead, he gets silence.

He wanders through the quiet penthouse, padding across the hardwood floors and looking everywhere for his crew. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he unlocks it. Michael has texted him eighteen times, he sees, as he opens his messages. Most of them are huge, rambling paragraphs, but the most recent ones catch his eye. It almost makes him drop his phone.

**Micool boi:** _ im so sorry _

**Micool boi:** _ i fucked up im so so sorry _

Gavin’s brow furrows into a worried line as he stares down at the confusing texts. Another one crops up, this time from Geoff.

**Dad lol:** _ Meeting room. Now. _

Gavin glances up, seeing the meeting room door down at the end of the far hall. His stomach drops, he doesn’t know why. Maybe because Geoff always uses full sentences with him, maybe because he feels like he’s missing a chunk out of his mind, memory that’s just… not there. The bank, the heist, alarms and lights and gunshots and Michael… Gavin looks down at all the messages he sent and his eyes go wide with panic as he scans the words, filling in all the gaps in his mind with startling clarity. They know?

**_They know us._ **

Gavin slips his phone back into his pocket with shaking hands before he has a chance to break down and he steels his heart against breaking like he knows it will, steps into the meeting room. He closes the door softly behind him.

“I am hereby disbanding the Fake Achievement Hunter Crew. Effective immediately.” 

* * *

Gavin opens his eyes slowly, squinting against the sunlight filtering between the curtains, cracked open just a little. He rolls over, expecting to see Michael next to him but the bed is empty. Michael is, instead, sitting down at the little desk in the corner of the room, head tilted and phone trapped between his ear and shoulder. He’s frantically scribbling something on a pad of paper.

Gavin drags himself out of bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and wrapping an arm around Michael from behind. He smiles, humming a few times before hanging up. He seems almost nervous as he turns to Gavin, kissing him sweetly before handing him the paper he was writing on.

“Good morning,” Michael says.

Gavin unfolds the paper.

“Jack showed up at Geoff’s door last night.”

Gavin scans the paper.

“Jeremy’s been seen in Nevada.”

Gavin blinks hard, makes sure he's actually awake.

"V was caught on camera yesterday wearing a black and green jacket with our old logo on the back."

Gavin's eyes are wide as he turns to stare at Michael, a silent question on his tongue. Michael stares right back.

The paper he's holding, the one that has all the information that Michael just told him on it, drops from his hands as he lunges forward and traps Michael in a hug.

"Are they coming back?" He asks breathlessly. "Are  _ we _ coming back?"

Michael can say yes, but he doesn't know. He can say no, but that goes against what he's seeing. He can say that with time, they build themselves up to be the giants they once were.

"Maybe."

And that, really, is enough for them both. A  _ maybe _ is all they need. The Fakes have worked off less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should add a proper end note.
> 
> Thank you for reading and sticking with this fic until the end, if that's what you did. I greatly enjoyed crafting this story and I hope you enjoyed reading it. Thanks for all the comments, kudos and bookmarks.


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